


Soft

by TheRookieKing412



Series: Fakiru Week 2019 [3]
Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: F/M, Romeo and Juliet AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-27 06:49:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20756117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRookieKing412/pseuds/TheRookieKing412





	1. Garden

He’d sworn to himself that he would never go to that house again. 

He wouldn’t. 

He swore that he would never let this feud control his life. 

He swore it. 

So then how did he end up at the Mallard’s Summer Garden Party, playing nice with any person that was related to the Mallard name instead of saying what he thought of them. 

It’s not that he believed in the propaganda the media, his grandfather, his cousin, and his schooling had drilled into his skull, that he needed to hate the Mallards not for any reason other than the fact that they were Mallards’, but rather he wanted to tell them how stupid they were.

His family, as well.

The fake smiles, the grand gestures, when behind it all was nothing but malice and contempt. 

It made him sick. 

He was supposed to hate an entire family because of something they did a hundred years ago? 

What was worse was that the Mallard’s played into it as well. 

The painted grins, and too firm handshakes, before cursing their names behind their backs. 

It was stupid, plain and simple. 

He promised that once he took over the publishing company, he wouldn’t let the shallow hatred consume him and that he would do his best to get rid of it. 

He looked over at Mytho, who was having a grand time - not belonging to either family, no matter how well he and Fakir were associated - and cursed that stupid boy for dragging him along only to ditch him. 

That’s when he saw her, of course. 

At the top of the stairs, coming off the patio and descending down into the garden. 

He had never seen her before. 

* * *

He thought he knew every Mallard, but as he followed her, judging her and trying to figure out who she was, he was starting to think that she was a nobody. 

She was a pretty little thing, prettier than any of the girls he knew, a round face, a freckled nose, the pink dress she wore too large on her slim body. 

At one point or another, she stopped and grabbed herself a drink and he tried to be cruel to her, to see how she would handle it. 

“Isn’t a bit hot to have your hair down?”

And so long, flowing so freely. He knew that the style these days were shorter cuts, curled and pinned up with hundreds of bobby pins and braids. 

She touched her hair, red and a stunning color as the sun faded over the mountains, almost a peachy hue. 

“Oh, not at all! I don’t mind having my hair down when it’s for an event like this. Thank you, though.”

He furrowed his brow. Any other Mallard would have sent him a glare, told him that his own hair could use some maintenance. She had on a plastered smile, but it was different from the others he’d seen, there wasn’t aggression hidden in her eyes, but anxiety. 

Perhaps he was wrong in assuming she was a Mallard, but a guest like Mytho.

“Why thank me?”

“For being considerate! No one’s asked me if my hair made me hot, normally I have it up, but Rue said that I should wear it down for a change.”

Rue? Of course she was friends with Rue, that pesky, bitchy Prima Donna. 

Just a freshman but still sitting in his senior literature class. 

Not that it mattered any longer, now that he was going to college. 

But, if this girl associated herself with Rue then who was she? 

Rue made it known by all that she only kept friends that would do well to her and push her up the social ladder. 

She had made herself an enemy of Fakir, on purpose. On a daily basis. As if to make sure he knew that he could never do such a thing. 

The girl held her hands in front of her skirt and asked him sweetly how he was enjoying the party. 

She was watching him with her eyes, blue and wide and open and so vulnerable. 

He turned away from her. “It’s fine. I don’t like parties.”

“Neither do I, why did you come if you don’t like parties?”

“Good question.” Fakir pointed over at Mytho, dancing a waltz with one of the Opera Board Members. A woman about thirty years older than him and was laughing her head off. “He likes to drag me along.”

She gave a small gasp, called herself stupid under her breath and turned her body to face his fully. “I’m so sorry! Do you want anything to drink? Or- or something to eat?”

He thought he was being rude. 

He thought that she knew who she was talking to.

“No, thank you.” 

“Oh. Okay.”

He crossed his arms and was determined to hate her, but he stayed there for the rest of the night, by her side. He took up the burden that was starting a new topic of conversation. He talked about the garden and how well it was kept, and she beamed happily as she told him that she helped the gardeners everyday.

Then she said something, looking expectantly at him, and he would respond in honest and say something else.

He would have been content to stand there the rest of the night.

After the sun fell, and the edison lights strung over the garden were lit, Rue had reared her head and ushered the girl away.

Glaring at Fakir, he was sure Rue was going to spit on his name, curse him, and tell the girl to never see him again. 

Well, that was just fine!

She could do whatever she wanted!

What did he care!

But whenever he looked over for her, she was looking back for him.

* * *

The party had ended several hours ago, but somehow he found himself out back, he had jumped over the garden wall and was approaching the garden again. He shouldn’t have been, this was trespassing. 

But all he wanted was just a glimpse of that girl again.

Just a glimpse.

He was surprised to find her leaning against the railing that overlooked the garden, sighing gently. 

“Why?” She asked. “Why does it have to be him?”

Who was she talking about? 

She groaned and straightened her back, a small hand trailing over the railing as she walked down into the garden, barefoot. 

He’s hidden behind a tree, and perhaps that will be enough, but he steps around the tree, determined to be out of her sight, but he steps on a twig. 

“Who’s there!” 

Damn.

He steps out from behind the tree and is surprised by her sigh of relief.

“Oh good, I thought…” She draws off, holding a hand to her chest, but she shakes it off and smiles at him instead. “Did you forget something?”

“What’s your name?”

“Pardon?”

He bites his tongue, stupid. Why did he ask? He could have just said his wallet, looked around a bit and left. Stupid, stupid, stupid-

But she blushes and smiles. “Ahiru.” She says, but then that smile lessens. “Ahiru Mallard. And yours?” 

She asks, but he thinks that she already knows. 

“Fakir Drosselmeyer.” It’s a fucking mouthful, and he wishes his father took his mother’s name, but he’s stuck with it. 

Maybe he’ll change it. 

When he’s eighteen, it’s only a few months away. 

“I was afraid of that.” She says, almost disappointed. She was hoping he would say something else. 

They talked in the garden for a bit longer, only breaking away when someone inside of the house called her. 

She smiles brightly at him and he comes back tomorrow.

* * *

His entire summer is spent trespassing, climbing over the garden wall and waiting for her to come out and greet him. 

It’s these hot summer nights that he learns about her. 

The Heiress of the Opera House, only waiting for her to finish her schooling to take over, held in the clutches of Raven, a family friend who had been trusted with everything, even her upbringing. 

He tells her things he’s told no one else. 

That he hates editing, and he knows that being the CEO of the publishing company won’t mean he has to edit, but he would much rather write. 

He shows her his stories.

She loves them.

She wants to dance, wants to dance her life away, but her priorities are not with the ballet company, but making sure the Opera House doesn’t come crashing down. 

She has no head for business, she tells him, she’s not good at math, and has little organizing skills. 

He tells her a forgotten dream, of leaving his family behind, his name, in favor of a quieter life. 

She sits by his side, under the oak tree, she braids flower crowns, claiming she’s listening but she has to do something with her hands, and more often than not does he come home with flowers in his hair. 

* * *

School starts for her and she jokingly mentions that he should come and pick her up after school, and he does, much to Rue’s chagrin and Ahiru’s two friend’s astonishment.

He takes her to a place that he knows no one else goes. 

It's too out of the way, too obscure, it doesn’t lead to any rivers or lakes, it doesn’t have a great view.

It’s a small park close to his parent’s house, the park he would go to as a little boy. 

Propped on a hill, she goes over the work she’s been assigned on her first day. 

Everyday is a little different, some days she has a book to read - which she’ll try to read, laying on her back, but using Fakir as shade - some days she’ll have math, and tap, tap, tap her pencil against her paper until he helps her, some days she has history, and that’s more reading, but taking more notes. 

He doesn’t mind, and makes sure that all the classes he’s taking don’t stop these meetings from happening. 

He doesn’t want them to stop. 

Some days she’ll look over his shoulder at his college level homework and tells him that’s way too hard, he just grins and shakes his head. 

* * *

She gives him an invitation for their next party, a masquerade for Halloween and she won’t tell him what she’s going as.

She wants to keep it a surprise. 

* * *

Mytho stands next to him dressed as a prince while Fakir stands next to him as his knight. 

As soon as they’re inside the Mallard household, Fakir searches for Ahiru, but instead, right in front of him is a dainty cough, and when he looks down, he sees a small black swan glaring at him.

“Stay away from her.” The black swan says. “Unless you want terrible things to happen to you.”

Fakir glares at Rue as she walks away, but she leads him right to where Ahiru is, dressed as a white swan. 

“Do me a favor.” Fakir turns to Mytho and whispers into his ear. “Distract Rue for me.”

Mytho, who was following Rue as she left as well, but for completely different reasons, gave him a firm nod. 

Hmm, maybe that wasn’t the best idea. 

Fakir makes his way to Ahiru, suddenly alone now that Mytho whisked Rue away. 

She’s wearing something akin to a proper Odette costume, she has the white hair piece, and the white tutu with blue details. 

“Isn’t it a bit cold to be wearing that?”

Her eyes snap over to his and lock on him instantly, and she smiles. 

* * *

November comes with bad news. 

As a fresh adult, it means that he’s pushed further into the public eye. 

He never expected to find himself in a list of Germany’s Top 50 Available Bachelors and is almost sick to his stomach when he sees himself on the cover of some magazine Ahiru’s friends gave her with a paparazzi photo of him shirtless coming out of his estate’s pool.

Ahiru blushes, and does her best to keep her eyes off the cover, and the fact that she can’t, makes him blush.

He’s grateful, however, that she gives him the magazine. 

“My friends were teasing me all day about it.” She admits, she avoids his eyes, and her face is warm. 

He makes a strange promise, just to himself, that he wouldn’t let himself become anything more than what he was if it meant she couldn’t look him in the eyes. 

* * *

He had broken his own goddamn promise. 

Somehow, every housewife, every gossip column, and every crappy magazine had clung to him like a lifeline. 

He wasn’t just Fakir anymore, no, no, no. 

He was up and coming Fakir Drosselmeyer, the hot heir to Great Oaks Publishing Company. 

He was a superstar in the eye of the public for no damn reason other than a few bored newscasters thought he was hot. 

Ahiru thought it was funny, that he was gaining so much unwanted attention, but she didn’t care.

So long as he was still him, she didn’t care.

He made a new promise.

* * *

He didn’t remember how he finished four years of college while being hounded by the media, how he still hung out with Ahiru, stealing her afternoons, while he had exams to study for and camera flashes to avoid. 

He didn’t know how he was able to attend every party her family threw with so much going on, but he did, Mytho running off to distract Rue, leaving Ahiru out in the open for Fakir to find.

He wasn’t brave enough to ask her to dance until they had known each other for three years. 

Her hand was soft in his, and so trusting, he wouldn’t let her fall.

She only looked up at him, her hand resting on his shoulder as he lead her through a basic waltz. 

She smiled at the simple steps, and when the next song played, he took up a more complicated dance, and she laughed when she messed up, stepping on his toes, or kicking his shins, she’d shout an apology over her laughing lips and he couldn’t stop himself as he stole the rest of her night. 

He had wasted so much time, if only at every party did he ask her to dance. 

She was breathless, and as one last song played, slower than the previous, and he reverted back to that simple box dance, she rested her head on his chest and he was sure she heard how his heart skipped a beat. 

* * *

She called him one night, on the verge of tears, saying how she wasn’t allowed to go to college, where she had every opportunity to have a minor in Ballet, every opportunity to dance away her afternoons after sitting at lectures in the morning. 

“Raven said he was just going to train me! He said that would be more efficient! That I could take on the job sooner.” Over stuttering breaths, and rivers of tears, she said. “But I don’t even want it.”

He came over, tapping at her window until she let him inside and as soon as his foot stepped on the carpet, her arms were around him and she was sobbing into his chest. 

* * *

He was starting at the bottom. 

The very bottom. 

He didn’t even get to talk to his grandfather. Not that he wanted to. 

But all he did was take calls. 

Take calls and calls and calls.

And he wasn’t good at it. 

Autor scoffed, he was already in an editor's chair. 

He wasn’t there long, only after a week was he moved up.

Now he was the personal secretary of Autor.

“I hate you.” He told Autor when Autor sent nothing more than a scathing smirk.

Mytho patted his shoulder. “It could be worse.” He promised.

“Easy for you to say.” Fakir mumbled. “You’re already granddad’s personal assistant.”

Mytho smirks and shrugs, sipping a cup of coffee. “What can I say? That old guy likes me.”

* * *

Ahiru looks over the dock, at the water below, and Fakir waits for her to finish moping, so he can go cheer her up, buy her dinner and dessert, take her far away from this place. 

She had gotten yelled at for being at the ballet auditions, the part of Sleeping Beauty would have been as good as hers if Raven hadn’t stormed in and dragged her away. 

All she wanted to do was dance. 

It was lame, and he himself didn’t know how to dance, but he had seen Sleeping Beauty more than enough times to lead her through one of the pas de deuxs. 

“What are you-? Fakir! Stop it.” She tries to pull away, but when he dips her low she can’t stop from laughing. 

He lifts her up and she’s glowing.

He’s gentle to pull her back down, her legs sliding over his chest, her hands on his shoulders, and she’s too close, her chest pressed to his as she looks up at him, his hands still firmly clamped around her waist.

“Thank you.” She says, and she stands on tip toes to kiss his jaw, but as soon as she does, there’s a great flash. 

She gasps and he hides her away, placing his body between hers and the flash. 

* * *

His phone rings and he picks it up. “Thank you for calling Great-”

“Fakir.”

Fakir’s tongue freezes, it’s Mytho, and the tone of his voice is a dead serious tone he never uses. 

“Drosselmeyer would like to see you.” He says before hanging up. 

* * *

He stands at the double oak door, knocks twice and waits for his grandfather’s permission. 

“Enter.”

He does, shutting the door but not stepping a foot inside the office past the threshold. 

“Do you know why I’ve called you in here?”

Drosselmeyer stands at the window, his hands clasped behind his back, his desk is empty except for a slip of paper, shining under the light of the desktop. 

A magazine.

“No sir.” He replies. 

“No? You say? No!” Drosselmeyer turns and pulls the magazine into the air with deadly speed. “What. Is. This?”

Fakir steps forward and swipes the booklet from his grandfather’s hands. He looks down at the cover. 

A picture taken at the docks, it’s him, and a girl with red hair. 

She kisses his jaw.

The headline signs Mystery Girl Steals Germany’s Most Coveted Bachelor? 

“A gossip magazine.” Fakir says coolly, throwing the thing back on the desk. 

“And that picture? Just pure gossip? Just hearsay? Photoshop? Don’t lie to me, boy. I know who that girl is! Ahiru Mallard! This is dangerous, very dangerous indeed.” 

Fakir clenches his jaw. And? Who cares? 

“I forbid you from seeing her.”

“You can’t-”

“I think you need some time to clear your head.” Drosselmeyer says. “I’ve cleared your schedule and I have set up a driver to take you to Nordlingen as soon as possible. Call me when you’ve decided to listen to your family.” 

* * *

He tells her, and he knows that she’s upset, but what else can he do? Turn back time so they weren’t at that dock? Take that camera from that photographers hands? Burn down the magazine company? 

She clings to him, and he lets her, because he clings, too. 

And the next day he’s gone.

* * *

Nordlingen isn’t so different from Berlin in that there are people there.

There’s always a morning rush, always a bit of traffic, his favorite coffee house is suddenly crammed. 

The only thing it’s missing is her. 

He stares at his computer screen, willing the words to appear, but he can’t, and when Raetsel comes over to refill his coffee cup, she laughs and tells him to try smiling, maybe the words are scared. 

Raetsel is the only good thing about this town, because once upon a time she was apart of the Drosselmeyer family as well. 

Autor was a cousin on his father’s side, but Raetsel was a cousin on his mother’s side, and she ran away to marry a country bumpkin. 

She refills his coffee cup without having to ask, and all he wants to ask is if it was worth it, the running away. 

But she rubs her growing belly, a wedding band on one finger and smiles at every person who enters the door. 

She is, he can tell. 

It was worth it.

Nordlingen also sucks because he can’t call anyone. 

The service he has is awful and whenever he tries to call Mytho or Ahiru, it’s almost pointless, there’s only static, a few words reaching him, and he’s sure they can’t understand him. 

He spends a month in Nordlingen before it happens. 

* * *

He left at a bad time, Ahiru was in pain, she was in too much pain for him to abandon her, she needed him, and she was left alone to fend for herself, take care of herself, and he almost doesn’t let the words hit his ears. 

Everyone knows who he is in town, it was impossible not to when the local gossip magazine did a whole story about Royalty Gracing them with his Presence. It was bullshit. 

A lot of young girls came up to ask him if he was really dating the redhead. 

A lot of women too.

A lot of older women. 

Some men.

And so did Raetsel, but he didn’t have a clear answer to give her. 

He wasn’t sure, he had never asked her out, but they went out to dinner, danced together, laughed together, she held his hand more than once, and she had kissed him. 

He wasn’t sure. 

There wasn’t a day that went by where he wished he was back home, back in Ahiru’s backyard, convincing her to dance even if it meant he’d be disowned. 

Look who was disowned now. 

The cabin his grandfather had given him was small, with no TV, all he had was his laptop, and the stupid thing didn’t have WiFi except at Raetsel’s cafe.

As he walked to the cafe, he noticed the pitiful glances every person gave him as he passed. 

The loving hands that touched his arm, shaking their heads as if they couldn’t speak. 

Even one man stepped up to him, “I am so sorry for your loss.”

“What loss?” 

He thought everyone was crazy until he passed the electronics store, the TV’s in the window playing a news broadcast. 

It was a blonde woman on the screen, speaking through red lips, and he almost didn’t care, until the image changed from the blonde woman to a redhead. 

He stopped in his path, and turned to the TV. 

Ahiru, her flaming hair fanned around her, she wore a white dress, her hands were folded with calla lilies nestled between her fingers, and her eyes were closed. 

The TV’s turned off, and Fakir looked through the window at the store clerk who had switched them all off, they covered their face and rushed out of sight. 

But it sent Fakir running. 

“Raetsel!” He shouted, barging into the full coffee house, the door banging against the wall. 

But they all knew him, and they all grew quiet. 

Raetsel bustled out of the kitchen and was shoving him into his quiet chair in the corner of the cafe.

“Be quiet!” She said, looking over her shoulder at her guests. 

“What’s going on.” He asked, a scowl set in place, his eyes growing dark. 

Raetsel shook her head. “It’s not any of your concern-”

“Damnit, Raetsel!” He shouted, raising to his feet and bearing down at her. “I saw her! On the news! Just tell me what happened!” 

“Fakir-” Raetsel said, almost too gently, her hands touched his arm but he pulled away. She closes her eyes and he doesn’t miss the tear that slips past. Was she…? 

Crying? For his sake? 

She pulls out her phone and shows him a news article. 

Heiress of Mallard Opera House Found Dead this Morning.

Murder or Sucicide? 

The police had yet to decide.

He can’t breathe. 

He only sees her, her hair, the white dress, the lilies, her eyes…

He tried to see her blue eyes, but all he saw was her eyelids shut as if she was asleep…

Never to open them again. 

“Give me your keys.” He grits out, he can barely speak, and he feels the hot prick of tears in his eyes. 

He doesn’t see anymore, but he hears the jingle, and he feels the cool metal in his hands. He steals her car, determined to drive it to Berlin even if it takes all day. 

He throws his bag in the back, uncaring if it breaks his laptop, but his phone slips out of the top, and as he comes out of Nordlingen, and into greater cities, with better coverage, the phone lights up with one missed phone call. 

He can only see her eyes. 

Closed for forever. 


	2. Silk

Ahiru’s brow sets into a hard line as she realizes her decision is made. 

She’s talked about it with Rue, and maybe it’s selfish of her to put it all on Rue’s shoulders, but Rue seems excited about running the Opera House herself. 

“I can still dance.” Rue promises. “You can’t take that away from me.”

And Rue talks to Mytho, he seems more than okay than stepping into Fakir’s role.

“Drosselmeyer likes me.” Mytho says. “Probably more than Fakir.”

So it’s all set. 

Now all she had to do was fake her death. 

* * *

She’s lucky, she thinks, that her godmother is an herbalist. 

Edel smiles at Ahiru as she steps inside and shakes off her jacket. 

Edel has known since the beginning the relationship Ahiru had with the Drosselmeyer boy, and while Edel was an honorary Mallard, she never minded the relationship, and even thought it could end the feud. 

But as she hears Ahiru’s plan, she can see the smile on her godmother’s face fading. 

Edel nods, but only because she knows Ahiru is right. 

What with the drastic measures Drosselmeyer took. 

And the one Raven took. 

Raven had spent all his time and effort to make sure that Ahiru was kept out of the public eye until she was ready to be seen, and she was a secret, up until he found the magazine.

She was on the cover, kissing Fakir’s jaw. 

I missed, she thinks bitterly.

Her punishment is lighter… well…

If she thought an arranged marriage was lighter than banishment. 

It was announced soon after Fakir had left for Nordlingen and she hoped he didn’t get to see. 

She smiled as the lights flashed, her hand wrapped around the clammy hand of a stranger’s. 

No one knew who she was, and no one knew who her fiance was outside of the Opera community, so only a few prestigious printers covered the story. 

Fakir wouldn’t see.

The wedding was in a month and she cried on Rue’s shoulders. 

“I wish I could take this burden off your shoulders.”

Then it clicked. Rue could. 

But Ahiru couldn’t be alive anymore. 

She told Rue her plan, it was ill-thought, and deadly if it went wrong, but Rue agreed. 

“Mytho has to go get Fakir.” Ahiru reasons. “Mytho has to go get him and bring him to me so he’s not confused or hurt. An-and I’ll call him! I’ll call him and I’ll let him know that I’m okay. That I’m waiting for him.”

She sits on her godmother’s couch, accepting a purple vial, drink it quick, the taste is bitter, she is warned and takes it home. 

It’s the day before her wedding, she can see the white, silk dress hanging in her closet, it’s plain and beautiful, but it feels so cold when she runs her hand over it. 

She calls Fakir, but he doesn’t pick up. It’s late, she reasons, he’s asleep. 

She leaves a voicemail. 

“I’m alive. I promise. Mytho will come and get you tomorrow, and by the time you come I’ll be awake again, it’s just a drug, I’m not dead, I promise. The world will think I’m dead, but that means we can start over. We can run away together.” She bites her lip, because she’s never said it before, but he makes her brave and her heart beats warmly. “I love you.” 

She drinks the potion and falls back into soft feathers behind her head, a blue sky above.

* * *

She wakes to a hand encasing hers, and gentle fingers barely touching her face. 

“You idiot.” He whispers, his voice so soft, but shaking. Why is it shaking? He kisses her forehead and she can feel the tears drip down his chin and onto her skin. Why was he crying? “Why didn’t you wait for me? I would have come back for you.” He cradles her head. 

“Fakir.” She breathes out, her eyes fluttering open. 

He looks down at her, shocked and horrified. “Ahiru?”

She smiles, and reaches out a hand to touch his face. “Did Mytho bring you?”

He shook his head and her smile fades.

“Did you get my voicemail?”

His eyes close and he leans into her hand, kissing her palm as he shakes his head. 

She gasps sharply and sits up. “Fakir did you think-?”

Hot tears pour into her hand and she cups his cheek. 

“Oh, oh Fakir, I’m so sorry.”

She rips her hands away and wraps her arms around his neck, and she feels her body crash against his as he holds her so tightly to him that she’s afraid he’ll break her. 

But not afraid enough to let go. 

“What are they going to do when they can’t find your body?”

“Oh.” Ahiru blinks. “I didn’t think that far.” 

He sighs against her neck and he chuckles. “Idiot. What are we going to do?”

“Ahiru! Ahiru, are you awake? Mytho just called, Fakir’s gone- oh.” Rue came running to the door, throwing it open to warn Ahiru only to find them both there. 

“Rue!” Ahiru shouts, reaching her hand out to her friend, she takes it, but remains a distance away from Fakir. “Rue what are we going to do when they come back for me but I’m gone?” 

“Mytho and I will take care of it. Go. Hurry.” 

Rue takes her hand away and watches as Ahiru stumbles off the bed and falls into Fakir’s chest, her legs still asleep, Fakir sighs, kisses her forehead, and sweeps his arm under her knees. 

She blushes, but she doesn’t mind being carried. 

Ahiru leans her head against his chest, and almost falls asleep again. 

Fakir doesn’t stay in Berlin, he rushes back to Nordlingen, listening to what had happened while he was gone. 

“Sounds like a prick.” He says, when she starts to describe the man who she was supposed to marry today. 

She smiles. “He was. Just a bit.” 

He listens to her plan, only scoffing once, and she makes him listen to the voicemail, forgetting her moment of bravery and thinking she only told him the details of the plan. 

He throws the phone in the back and once they’re in Nordlingen he rushes to her side of the car to open her door. 

She grins at his offered hand and she follows him inside, standing just inside and looking around at how bare it is. 

“I’ll buy us a real house once they think I’m dead as well.” Fakir promises her, grabbing her hand and leading her inside.

“A real house?” She’s pulled into an embrace and he presses his forehead to hers. 

“A real house. One story or two?”

“Hmm, two.”

“With a backyard.

“And a garden?”

He grins. “Of course.” 

“Can we get a dog?”

“We can get five.”

“And a cat.” 

“If that’s what you want.”

She takes a deep breath and raises her hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing against a slight bit of stubble. She tilts her head, and this time she’s sure to aim right. 

“I love-” He tries to say, but is cut off by her lips kissing his. 

His hands bury themselves in her hair and he pulls her closer. 

This is right, she thinks, it’s just him, and me, and nothing else. Nothing holding us back. 

He pulls away, his breath hot on her lips. “I love you.” 

She giggles. “I love you, too.” 

“I thought you were dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shakes his head. “Don’t be, I have you now.”

She smiles and she knows he’s right. She kisses him again. 

He moves his hands to her waist, and his thumbs move over the silky fabric. 

“I’ve never seen this one before.” He said.

She pulls back, showing it to him. “Do you like it? It’s my wedding dress.”

“Your wedding dress.” He furrows his brow.

“It was supposed to be today.” Ahiru averts her eyes and she feels a wash of shame, though she’s not sure why. “Your punishment was this, but mine was an engagement.” She pulls the heavy ring off her finger. 

She supposes its fashionable. White gold. A large stone, surrounded by other smaller gems. But she finds she doesn’t like it. 

She drops it in his hand and he scowls at the thing. He pockets it. 

“The next time someone puts a ring on your finger, you won’t consider it a punishment.” 

She looks up at him, “I hope not.” she says. 

“Why would they put you in your wedding dress?”

“I don’t know.” Ahiru held her skirt out. “Maybe Raven didn’t want to waste it.”

Fakir bends down to kiss her cheek. “Should I take it off you?”

Her cheeks grow hot and she blushes. “I think you should.” 

He takes her hand and drags her away, she doesn’t know where for she can only see him. 

With the door closed behind them, he pulls her to him, his face in the crook of her neck as he undoes the buttons. 

He’s whispering something, but she can’t hear him, she only cares about the fact that he’s here now. In her arms. 

The wedding dress falls to the floor and she kicks it out of the way. 

She grabs his face and presses her forehead to his, unable to stop the laughter that escapes her lips.

“I have to change my name, I can’t be Ahiru Mallard.” 

He hums, his hand taking hold of hers, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand. “Take my name.” 

“Ahiru Drosselmeyer?” She sticks her tongue out. 

“No. Lohengrin.” He says. “It was my mother’s last name. I intend to keep it.”

“Lohengrin.” Her eyes flutter closed and she smiles. “I like that.”

His lips are on hers, warm and soft, and she loves it. 

She loves him, she loves everything about him. 

Ever since that first night, when he came back.

She fell in love. 

And every afternoon she spent in his company, every glance she stole, every party spent with him, every tear she shed because of how unfair Raven had become. 

She was utterly in love with him when they stood on that dock, and when he had come to dry her tears, she wanted to kiss him to show him how much she had come to love him, how much she valued him. 

But then he was gone. 

Spirited away from her.

But now he was here. 

His hands pressing into her bare back, his lips over her skin, devouring her. 

“Fakir.” She says in a moan when he sucks on the skin at the base of her throat. “Fakir, I-”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head, his forehead pressed into her neck. “Don’t say it.” 

“Say what?” She asks, furrowing her eyebrows. What does he think she’s going to say? 

“I know this isn’t the life you want. Living in this nothing town, never seeing Rue again, or your family, or the Opera.” 

She peels him away from her. “The only thing I want is to be with you. I’m happiest when I’m with you.” She can feel unshed tears fill her eyes. “So- so don’t say that. I love you, Fakir, the only thing I want is a life with you.” 

He makes her brave. 

She kisses his cheek, tracing down his jaw, kissing his neck and even biting his skin where she saw fit. He shivers under her touch. Her hands trail over his chest, and she unbuttons his shirt and he shrugs out of it. 

“This is what you want?” 

“This is what I want.” She nods and pushes him back until his knees collide with the bed and he falls down. Ahiru stands between his legs, her hands on his shoulders, and his on her hips. She kisses him back, leaning into him. He falls, taking her with him and she giggles against his lips. 

She lays on top of him, kissing him softly before pulling back, and looking into his eyes with so much love, and it's reciprocated. His eyes always gave him away, they were always so open, open for her to read, and even now, as she gazed down at him, she had never seen so much love, so much adoration, in the depths of his eyes. 

She stretches her legs, straddling his waist. 

His hand presses into her back, pushing her closer to him, so the undressed skin of her stomach touches his. She kisses his neck again, earning a swat when she bites his collarbone. 

She giggles but kisses the spot she offended. 

His hands find their way down her back and over her legs, tracing patterns over her thighs. 

She likes the way his hands feel, and wants them to touch her all over, it doesn’t matter to her, wherever he wants to touch her, he may. 

He’s gentle, his hands skitting over the edge of her underwear and she knows that he wants to touch her there, in that secret, forbidden, intimate place, and she’s tired of things being forbidden. 

She reaches back first and removes her bra, so that her chest is pressed fully and flushly to his and she doesn’t miss how he twitches. 

He becomes braver, where his hands rush over the backs of her thighs, they rise and his thumb hooks under the fabric to pull them away. 

“Wait.” She whispers, and he stops completely. “You’re still half dressed.” 

He scoffs but rolls her off of him. He stands and takes everything off for her, and when he comes back to bed, he removes her underwear the rest of the way. 

He kisses her again, but Ahiru invites him to lie down again. 

She liked how it felt to straddle him. 

So when he lies down, she wraps her legs around his torso and kisses him, their lips moving together, his tongue unafraid to lash out at her lip, bravely pushing into her mouth.

And his hands remain busy. 

He grabs her thighs, rubbing them up and down, getting higher each time, until the edge of his thumbs meet the junction of her thighs, just flicking against her. 

Her thighs shake, and it’s perhaps not the best idea to be on top of him, but she stays as his thumb traces patterns over the flesh of her labia. 

Her breath hitches and it’s harder to concentrate on how well she kisses him. 

Her flesh is set ablaze with each stroke, and she can’t stand the fact that all he has to do is-

“Please!” She breaks away, panting heavily and shifting her hips. “Please, I need-”

She bites her lip and presses her face into his neck, but his thumb is replaced with two fingers, circling her before dipping inside and she can’t stop the deep throated moan that escapes her. 

He pumps his fingers in and out, slowly at first, but with each hitched breath he grows faster, and with a careful hand, one still inside her, the other on her back, he flips her over and now she’s writhing on the bed, desperate to be touched everywhere. 

She lets out another moan and he presses his lips to her neck, and moans out her name. 

She begs him again, begs him to touch her, begs him to be inside of her, begs him for all of him, and he complies. 

“Is this what you want?” He asks and when she nods her hand, he removes his hand. 

She throws her head back into the bed and there is only a second where he doesn’t touch her, but his hand is replaced with something better, something larger.

Her jaw drops open in a soundless scream, she grips the bedding and waits to become accustomed to his size.

“I’m sorry.” He says, peckering her neck and chest with kisses. 

She can’t speak, and her legs are useless, it’s a good thing he flipped her over, but now is no time to stop, she bucks her hips wildly, and when she does, he stifles a groan. 

He kisses her cheek and starts moving inside of her. 

It’s messy, at first, but soon she finds her rhythm, and her thrusts meet his perfectly.

“Do you want to know something, Fakir?” She asks, she hums in delight with each jut of his hips, her toes curling. 

“I do.” He answers. 

She moans delicately before saying, “I’ve loved you since I saw you return to the garden, tell me, when did you know you loved me?” 

He pauses in his movements, and she almost chastises him for stopping before he rams back into her, making her moan and throw her head back, she arches into him, and delighting in the reaction, he keeps up this rhythm, harder and faster, and she doesn’t know if this is the place for conversation. 

“The moment I saw you at the top of the stairs.” He admits, his hand rises to cup her breast and she takes in a sharp breath of air. He pinches her nipple and somehow his hips go faster, and it’s driving her wild. “The moment I knew you weren’t like the rest of them.” He bends down and captures her lips. “The moment I saw the kindness in your eyes.” 

“So then, what have we been doing all these years?” She asks, and he meets her eyes. Her jaw trembles and her eyes close as she bursts with pleasure, and he follows close behind her. 

He collapses on her chest and pulls out. He kisses her heart and the freckles that are scattered over her breasts. “Being stupid.” He admits and she can’t help but agree. 

He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles.

* * *

Ahiru stands in the kitchen as the TV plays the news. 

“It’s been a year since the double suicide of Star Crossed Lovers, Ahiru Mallard and Fakir Drosselmeyer, but in honor of the anniversary, Mytho Schwan and Rue Kreahe have offically put the fued into their company’s past.” 

Ahiru smiles as Fakir turns the TV off. 

“Thank you.” She says. She hates listening to the news, it’s never good. “How’s the story coming?”

Fakir nods, he wraps his arms around her from behind as she washes a dish. “Autor likes the story, but he still wants to meet me in person.”

“Isn’t it funny that he’s your publisher?” Ahiru smiles. “What are the chances?”

“If by “chances” you mean Mytho meddling, the chances are very high. He could have put me with any editor but it had to be Autor.” 

Ahiru dries her hands and turns around in his arms to face him. Wrapping her arms around his neck. 

She kisses him and he lets her. 

“Did you get tomorrow off?” He asks. 

She nods. “Yes, but Annie wasn’t happy about closing the studio for a whole day.” 

“So what? It’s your studio.” 

“Bought with another man’s engagement ring.” 

“Oh, but he gave it to you, so it was yours to do whatever you wished with it.” 

Ahiru giggles and shakes her head. She’s lucky, she thinks, she’s lucky that her life turned out so much in her favor. 

Fakir kisses her, and his lips are soft. 


End file.
